Till Death Do We Part
by RapunzelK
Summary: What if Emily had gone through with her marriage to Victor?
1. Chapter 1

10/12/05

"With this hand, I shall lift your sorrows.

"Your cup will never empty," the corpse bride took the moldy red bottle and emptied its pungent contents into the small brass chalice. Victoria watched, eyes wide, breath silent, from her hiding place behind the column. She dared not move or even blink. She was too transfixed with horror to do so anyway.

"For I shall be your wine." She offered the cup to Victor, her bony fingers clicking dryly against the polished metal. He took it and held it a moment, facing the strange apparition in her tattered wedding gown. She could not see his face from where she hid, only the back of his vainly-combed head. He must have smiled for the corpse's purpled lips turned upward and her eyes grew misty. Victoria's breath died as Victor raised the cup to his lips and drank. He set the cup down only just in time. His face still hidden she watched as he doubled over, gasping for breath. His grisly bride stood ready, reaching to catch him before he could collapse to the floor. She held him closely as he struggled and then fell limp, one arm twitching briefly even as his head lolled on her bony shoulder. She had wanted to run to him, to jump up and stop him, but she could not move. She could only watch mutely, hot tears welling up in her eyes as Victor slowly seemed to come back to himself. His muscles shifted beneath his jacket though his chest did not expand with indrawn breath. Shakily, stiffly, he got his feet under him again and stood. The corpse bride smiled. Victoria felt sick. She watched blankly as the cold couple finished their vows, the words distant and distorted to her ears, and kissed. It all seemed like some sort of macabre fever-dream, the image of the now dead Victor and his equally deceased bride parading down the aisle followed by their ghostly entourage and a massive, poison-green cake. The door echoed shut behind the last dancing skeleton and Victoria was left alone. With nothing left to do, she crumbled from her knees to her face on the cold granite steps and sobbed.

"There you are."

Victoria felt herself yanked fully into the waking world by the elbow.

"Get up. Stop groveling on the floor."

Victoria looked up to see Lord Barkis standing over her, his hand hooked around her left arm. Not out of obedience to any command, but because she did not wish to grovel- as he had put it- on the floor before him, she stood.

"What do you want?" she sniffed, eyes damp and sore from crying.

"My god you look horrible. Here, clean yourself up," he ordered, shoving a heavily perfumed square of purple silk at her. Victoria eyed it disdainfully and reluctantly dabbed her eyes with it. Lord Barkis accepted his slightly dampened handkercheif back with a sneer.

"We can still salvage this, I think. Come along 'dear'." With that he seized her wrist and dragged her down the steps and out of the church.

"Stop it!" she cried, trying to pry his fingers from her wrist. "Let me go! Let me go at once!"

"I'm afraid you have no choice in the matter, my dear," Lord Barkis grumbled, dragging her on. "As my wife you will do as I say." He turned and yanked her forward, holding her arm up high above her head, forcing her to face him. "Whether you like it or not."

Victoria could only gape at suddenly being handled so roughly. He seized her round the waist with one arm, pinning her to his side. With a start Victoria felt the prick of steel through the bones of her corset.

"Now come, let us go for a walk like a pleasant married couple."

She swallowed hard and managed a trembling, "Yes, dear," as he began dragging her once again.

"You know you should feel honored, my dear," Lord Barkis was saying, his tone oozing of sarcasm. "You have the honor of being my first wife. I was engaged several years ago to a charming young lady. Alas, it was not to be."

He turned and gave a poisonous smile.

"She died before I could take her hand in marriage."

Victoria gulped yet again, the demise of Lord Barkis' unfortunate fiancee only too easy to imagine with a knife already pressed into her ribs. Wait a moment. That was it. They had reached the hump of the short little bridge that connected the vicarage to the rest of the town. Victoria stopped short, causing Lord Barkis' knife to dig painfully into her side though the sturdy ribs of her corset protected her flesh from the cold bite of the blade. Who would have ever thought she would be grateful for the torturesome piece of clothing?

"You killed her, didn't you," she stated rather than asked.

"What makes you say that? Victoria you insult me!" he chuckled.

Victoria had had enough. Victor was gone, so were her family's hopes of avoiding the poor house, to speak nothing of her own dreams and dignity. There was nothing left for her to lose.

"Unhand me," she growled. "NOW."

Rather than wait for him to retort she turned and shoved him away while perplexity still lingered on his face.

"I shall tell the constable what you've done!" she declared, hurrying to back away and put as much distance between them as possible. "You'll be hanged for the dirty thief and murderer you are!"

Lord Barkis only chuckled.

"Do you really think anyone will believe you? After rambling about corpses?"

"It was true! You saw it yourself! The whole of the village saw them with their own eyes!"

He scoffed. "As if that matters. Why should they believe a silly little girl like you? A spoiled brat whining and simpering because she could not have the man she wanted."

Victoria blinked. Whining? Simpering? Her shock warmed and then burst into firey outrage.

"Well of COURSE I didn't want YOU!" she shot back. "How could ANYONE want a lying, murdering, conniving, ASS so full of himself that he hasn't room for anything else!"

She was aware that tears were streaming down her face, but she didn't care. They were tears of rage not sorrow. Lord Barkis was closing the distance between them, but she didn't care about that either. Her slender hands had curled into shaking fists at her sides. Let him come. She was done with this. She would tear him apart with her bare hands.

"Why you insolent little wench…" he growled.

"Oh you're one to bloody well talk! Tell me why DID you kill her? Did you marry her for her money too?"

"As a matter of fact," he had come closer, knife poised, "I did."

He swung the blade down but Victoria dodged, the shap edge wedging itself between the bridge stones. Picking up her skirts, she turned to flee but felt Lord Barkis latch a hand around her arm.

"Not so fast," he growled. "I may not have your money but you'll not spoil my chances of stealing someone else's!"

He yanked her toward him, his free hand pulling on the knife handle. Victoria kicked and clawed, gouging a few satisfying furrows into his cheek with her nails. She had nearly escaped when he seized her veil, dragging her backwards. Biting back on the pain Victoria lunged the other direction, the flimisy fabric tearing before her bun popped free in a tiny explosion of hairpins, her gently curling hair falling loose around her shoulders. She heard a curse and a muffled thud as Lord Barkis presumably fell backwards. She didn't stop to look. Instead, skirts wadded high in her arms, she ran for the end of the bridge and the little village beyond. If nothing else surely the VanDort's would at least hide her from this murderer. He had- in a round about way- caused Victor's death. Perhaps they would believe her. It was rather unlikely her parents would, even with the dead walking the streets only hours before.

The bridge stones were damp and slippery, the many gray blocks unevenly placed as the riverbank had settled ever lower. One tiny high heel caught against the jut of a higher stone, turning her ankle and causing her to pitch forward in a tangle of satin skirts and silky hair. No sooner had she bashed her breast against the cold stones than a second weight fell on her from behind. Rather than drive her further into the stones, rough hands grabbed her about the middle and hoisted her into the air.

"Let me go!" she gasped when at last she had breath to protest. "Unhand me!"

She pounded at Lord Barkis as best she could with her little fists but he laughed vainly as she struggled against him. His arms, thin as they were, were a good deal stronger than they looked. His tight grip did not loosen as he carried her towards the bridge's edge, holding her out over the rail above the murky water that swirled below. Victoria gasped and suddenly reversed her efforts, attempting to cling to him rather than to claw her way free. He smiled coldly.

"Till death do we part…"

He released her, sending her plunging over the side and into the dark waters. The Welbourne was not a wide river, but it was deep and swift. Vicotria had been warned countless times as a child not to go near it for fear she would drown. Now, her scream silenced as the icy water closed over her head, her mother's warning echoed loudly in her water-clogged ears. She had never been taught to swim and had no earthly idea how one went about it, but was keen to learn as quickly as possible. She kicked and clawed against the heartless pull of the current tugging her ever deeper into its cold, gray depths. Hampered and weighted by sixteen petticoats the sunlight began to fade as she slid further and further into the murk. Her chest burned and she felt strangely sleepy. Whether her eyes had closed or she had sunk too deep, she would never know. The pale light of the sun slowly floated away and she was left in complete and utter blackness, cold and empty.

She must have closed her eyes after all she decided, for she woke some time later- how long she was not sure- and waking up involved opening one's eyes. She found herself lying on a muddy riverbank not unlike the one she had just fallen into. This river, however, flowed dirty and green, bits of rubbish floated by and a skeleton sat fishing on the bank. He lifted his hat to her in greeting. Victoria, too dumbfounded to do anything else, nodded politely and picked herself up. She appeared to be on the outskirts of a town- a town similar to the one she had just left yet very different. The homes were shabby and ramshackle, some only half-finished, built of splintered, decaying wood in bright yet rotted colors of blue and red and green. Dusting off her damp and muddied skirts, she pushed her hair out of her face and headed up the bank towards the crowd of houses. She had some vague notion that once within the town, things might make more sense. In the back of her head, she knew she had been murdered, that she had drowned and was now dead, and that this was the land of the dead, the murky reflection of what went on above ground. Perhaps that was why the strange sights- the walking corpses and skeletons, the talking worms and insects- did not seem so strange. She was, after all, a corpse now herself and she nodded politely to those who greeted her.

The center of activity seemed to be at a little pub not far from the riverside. The worm-eaten sign above the door read "Ball and Socket". Victoria had never seen the inside of a pub and briefly reconsidered going in until she remembered that she was dead and precious little could harm her now. Without a second thought, she pushed the door open and descended the winding little stairs, nearly falling over at the cheers of "New Arrival!". She did not stumble, but instead stood stock-still. Victor and his corpse bride stood amidst the crowd, their poison-green cake carven and half-served behind them.

"Victoria…" he whispered. "What…what are you doing down here?"

As if the answer wasn't obvious. Still, she supposed he would be a bit shocked to see her here. She was supposed to be alive and married to Lord Barkis. The sudden tension in the room was palpable, the other corpses shifting nervously and mumbling to one another. Victoria forced what she hoped was a pleasant smile and descended to the floor of the pub.

"I…came to wish you well," she faltered, nodding politely at his pallid bride. The bride blinked but returned the nod with icy grace.

"Oh…er…well…thank you…" Victor stammered. "But…aren't you supposed to be…well…up there?" He pointed to the ceiling. "I thought you were to marry a Lord?"

"Oh I did," Victoria nodded, distantly aware that she was dripping water all over the floor. A skeletal little terrier had begun lapping it up.

"Then…why….?" Victor blinked, evidently still lost.

"He dropped me over the side of the bridge," she said simply. There really wasn't anything else to be said. Victor's eyes grew suddenly wider.

"I'm so sorry…" he stated blankly.

"It's…it's all right. I hope you'll be very happy…" She swallowed hard but was unsuccessful in keeping her voice from becoming rather pinched at the end. She dropped a quick curtsey and hurried away into the crowd of dressed bones.


	2. Chapter 2

Alone, heartbroken, soaking wet, and above all _dead_, Victoria sat by the riverside and wept. It was the only productive thing she could think of to do. Her heart, while still, did not hurt quite as much if she allowed her tears to flow. She might have found Victor, but he was already dead, and furthermore, already married. Now she was widowed and alone, not that she minded being removed from Lord Barkis, but she would rather have gone about it another way. Now what was she supposed to do?

A heavy hand made itself known upon her shoulder. Looking up, Victoria noticed a spotted handkerchief being dangled before her eyes. Further craning her neck she discovered the bearer of the handkerchief was the Van Dort's old driver.

"Mr. Mayhew!" Victoria exclaimed, trying vainly to wipe her tears away with damp fingers. She'd no idea the poor man had died.

"Here, Miss." He held the handkerchief closer and Victoria took it and dabbed her eyes.

"Thank you," she sniffed.

"If it's not too bold, Miss?" The old driver nodded at the empty bit of muddied ground next to her.

"Oh no, not at all, please," Victoria swallowed, still vainly trying to reign in her tears. With less creaking than she would have expected, the coachman seated himself.

"I'm terribly sorry," she choked at length. "I'd no idea you'd…"

He waved her condolences away with one hand. "Nah, s'all right. I'd had a good long run an' it coulda been worse. One minute I was there," he pointed at the distant, cavernous ceiling, "the next I was here. Hardly knew what hit me."

"What did hit you, if I may ask?"

"Cough finally caught up with me," he shrugged. Victoria nodded thoughtfully.

"What are you doing down here, if I may ask, Miss Victoria? Weren't you supposed to marry a Lord?"

This brought a fresh onset of tears and Victoria buried her face in the handkerchief.

"Oh! There now, Miss Victoria," Mayhew faltered, patting her gently on the back. "I'm awful sorry… Didn't mean to upset you none…"

"No, no it's all right," Victoria told him, emerging from behind the handkerchief for a moment. "I just…" She couldn't help the small wail that escaped her lips and she hid her face once more. Mayhew sat with her, arm around her shoulders, doing his best to soothe her until she cried herself dry.

"I'm terribly sorry," she sniffed thickly, at last too tired to indulge in further misery.

"S'all right, you've had a hard time of it to end up down here."

"Well, I suppose it was a bit worse than a cough… Lord Barkis dropped meoff a bridge."

"Why the bloody bugger!" Mayhew gasped, appalled. "Er, pardon, Miss," he amended sheepishly. Victoria waved the apology away with the soggy handkerchief.

"No it's all right. I quite agree. The rapscallion was only marrying me for my money. The joke was entirely on him, however."

"Right…you family fortune ain't what it used to be."

"You knew?" Victoria blinked.

"Servants gossip," he shrugged.

"Oh." There was nothing much to say to that. Mayhew was stroking his chin thoughtfully. As if to better assist the thought process, he dug a bulbous pipe out of a pocket, filled it, and lit it, puffing contemplative smoke rings into the dim evening light.

"Cryin' shame," he mumbled, appearing to be speaking more to himself than Victoria. "Your poor mum and dad'll be awful disappointed…"

"Oh dear, I hadn't thought of that." It was indeed true. Up until now Victoria had been too preoccupied with her own tragedy and Victor's marriage to the corpse bride that she'd quite forgotten the original reason for her marriage to Victor and then Lord Barkis: her family had no money. "Whatever shall they do? They'll have to go to the poor house! They'll be disgraced! And my parents are…well…they aren't young. They can't do labor, they'll starve!"

"It's a problem," he agreed, still smoking thoughtfully. Without much else to do, Victoria set her elbows on her knees and her chin in her hands to help think. She didn't come up with anything terribly helpful.

"I think," Mayhew said at length, tapping out his pipe and standing, "that maybe we ought to ask some help with this." He offered a hand to Victoria who took it and stood.

"I quite agree."

Her hand on his arm, they walked back to the Ball and Socket pub.


	3. Chapter 3

Inside the pub it was still as noisy and rowdy as ever. No one even looked up as the old driver escorted the young bride through the swinging shuttered doors and into the warm, yellow lamplight. Victor and the corpse bride were accepting handshakes and congratulations from a long line of guests, smiling and nodding happily. It set a muddled twinge of sadness and envy in Victoria's still heart. Victor seemed so happy… Perhaps that was the only important part. Deciding that good manners and good sportsmanship ought to take precedence over her own personal difficulties, Victoria stepped up to the end of the line pulling Mayhew with her.

"Congratulations," she said politely, forcing as much of a smile as she could.

"Thank you, Mrs…?" the Corpse Bride returned, delicately shaking Victoria's hand with boney fingers.

"Barkis, I suppose," Victoria answered, "Lady Barkis."

"Lady Barkis?" The corpse bride echoed, vague confusion stealing across her desiccated features.

"Yes, the late wife of a Lord Barkis Bittern."

The corpse bride blinked and, for the first time, seemed to notice her guest's water-logged wedding dress.

"I'm so sorry…" she stated, her words as blank as Victor's had been earlier. "How did it happen, if I may ask? I'm afraid I wasn't paying as close attention as I might have been."

"Not at all, I'm glad to be rid of him, though I would have preferred he be the one to go over the edge." The bitter words flared something hot and snapping inside her, the spark of anger giving her courage. "I didn't fancy drowning in the Welbourne."

"I thought that's what you said!" Victor chimed in abruptly.

"Why that's terrible!" the corpse bride exclaimed, genuinely shocked.

"Actually, that's what we come to talk to you about, beggin' your pardon," Mayhew added, tipping his hat and shaking hands with the bewildered couple. "Ms. Victoria's folks are in quite a spot, if you take my meaning."

"Yes, you see, Lord Barkis only married me for my money," Victoria explained. Heads swiveled within the ghostly crowd as the well-wishers attended to her story.

"Except you haven't any," Victor finished. "That's why you were supposed to marry me."

"Exactly," Victoria nodded, "but when you went missing, mother and father decided having another lord in the family might be more profitable."

"'Cept he hasn't got any money either, the thievin' cad," Mayhew finished. Horrified gasps and whispers echoed around the henceforth silent pub as the ghoulish partygoers chattered amongst each other.

"Unthinkable!"

"Horrible!"

"Outrageous!"

"That's two dead brides we have now."

Victoria cast about the crowded room searching for the latest speaker before her gaze came to rest on a hunched and yellowed skeleton; spectacles perched on his nose bridge and the remains of a long white beard clinging to his jaw.

"Tell me, my dear," he asked, voice as dry and aged as his bowed bones, "just who is this Lord Barkis?"

"Actually…I hardly know him at all," Victoria admitted. "He arrived the day before the wedding and was present at…" At this she cast a nervous glance at Victor, whose pallid cheeks colored slightly as he looked away to study the ceiling. "At the wedding rehearsal," she finished. "I thought he might be some distant relative of mother or father's."

"Not a very good judge of character, your parents," the old skeleton remarked.

"Come now, _Monsieur_," the barkeep- a severed head ferried about by a contingent of cockroaches- spoke up, "it is not proper to speak ill of ze living."

The corpse bride, who had remained silent through all of this, at length looked up and spoke.

"What did he look like?"

"Well," Victoria began," he was tall, though not so much as Victor, a bit broader in the shoulders and around the middle, a wide jaw and a strong nose, and fair hair pushed back." She gestured with her hands to indicate Lord Barkis' winglet hairstyle. The corpse bride was silent for a long moment before reaching into the rags of her wedding gown and producing a small brass case.

"Something like this?" she asked, opening the capsule and displaying the daguerreotype inside. Victoria stared, Victor gawked, the entire pub gasped and several jawbones fell to the floor with a clack.

"Lord Barkis…" Victoria whispered.

"He's gotten a bit fat, hasn't he?" Victor observed.

"I asked for this when we were courting," the corpse bride remarked, voice grown distant as her memories wandered back. "I had agreed to elope with him, but instead he strangled me and vanished with my dowry. He left my family impoverished as well."

The appalled whispers had turned to mutterings of rage. Around them, the corpse citizens grew agitated and Victoria found herself becoming nervous.

"Two lives come to an unfortunate and early end," the old skeleton shook his cracked skull. "What a shame."

"Four, actually," Victoria corrected. "Without anyone's fortune to support them, my parents will be cast out into the streets. They'll have to go to the poor house."

The mutters turned to angry growls of conversation, yet Victoria waited patiently while the old skeleton stroked his ragged beard in thought.

"A thief as well as a murderer, then," he remarked. "You three, come with me. We have work to do."


End file.
